


Midnight Oil

by Variastrix



Series: Tumblr Ask Fic - Hamilton [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Askbox Fic, Fluff, M/M, Oneshot, yep these two again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 18:59:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9839651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Variastrix/pseuds/Variastrix
Summary: Washington is up late. Alexander investigates.





	

**Author's Note:**

> An askbox/prompt fic from my [tumblr!](http://variaswrites.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Here](http://variaswrites.tumblr.com/post/157453077768/can-u-gimme-some-soft-whamilton-pls) is the original post on my blog, if you'd like to check it out there.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

It is late when Alexander shuffles past the General’s tent. Though the moon hangs in the sky above him, he is on his way to continue his writing on the small desk he keeps at the end of his own cot. The shared aides’ tent was drafty and cold with just himself present. He half-heartedly attempts to smother a yawn in his fist before catching sight of flickering candlelight through canvas. The General is awake. Alex frowns. It is very late.

He pauses in his journey toward the siren call of his own tent. The General had been fatigued that morning, they all had, and the day had not been kind. Winter was settling in earlier than expected, and of course the supplies promised by their congress had not yet arrived, delaying their return to Valley Forge for the season. Correspondence had been flooding in for their commander, and Alexander remembers seeing the broad line of Washington’s shoulders grow more and more tense as the hours wore on. That the General would still be up far past when he would usually retire did not bode well.

Alex does not have to think about it further. Switching directions, he strides purposefully up to the entrance to the General’s tent. His soft call is met with an equally hushed invitation to enter and Alex steps through.

“Hamilton.” Washington is sitting at his own desk when Alex enters. He takes in the slightly slumped posture of his General and feels a flash of concern at the tired eyes that meet his own.

“Sir. Is there something wrong?” Alex steps forward and settles at attention before Washington’s desk. Washington himself sits back and draws himself upward, seemingly shaking off his fatigue to appear more alert. His brow furrows and his gaze flickers over Alexander’s form before finding his eyes again, confused.

“Wrong?” The General’s sluggish reply solidifies Alexander’s resolve. He nods.

“Sir, it is very late. Perhaps whatever work may trouble you should wait until morning.” Alex squares his shoulders, prepared to defend his suggestion until he saw the General to bed. He would later blame the late hour for the sudden softening of Washington’s face and the fond smile that bloomed there, as well as the warmth that suffused his own chest at the sight. Amusement colors Washington’s voice.

“Hamilton, the irony is not lost on me that _you_ of all people should suggest that I shirk work in favor of rest.” Washington relaxes against the desk again, leaning on one elbow as the other arm lifts. “You should perhaps take your own advice,” he reaches and traces a finger lightly over the bruise-purple skin under Alexander’s eye, “and retire yourself, I think.”

Alex is thrown by the gesture. He clenches his hands tightly where he holds them behind his back as the shock of his General’s touch brings a flush of heat to his face. His eyes widen for a moment before he shakes himself and straightens further. The General is obviously exhausted. His resolve would not falter. Distracting emotion be damned.

“Sir, we are at war. I should think that the good health of the Commander of our army would far outweigh the condition of an aide.” Alex bites at his cheek as Washington sighs, smile dropping along with his hand. He fiercely shoves down his disappointment at seeing both go. Even so, something vulnerable creeps into his voice. “You should rest, sir. I-” his eyes flick away to alight on the candle still burning on the desk, “I dislike seeing you at less than your best.”

Washington stares at Hamilton from his seat, feeling all at once much more alert than he had before the aide had entered his tent. He examines the young man’s posture, his averted gaze, and something warm blooms in his own chest even as his smile takes on a sad tint.

“Hamilton it will never cease to amaze me that someone with such confidence in his words and such bravado in his manner should be so ignorant of his importance. If not to the war than at least to those that care for him.” He watches as Alexander’s shoulders tick higher and the tip of his ear goes pink. He tilts his head to try and catch his eyes again. “ _I_ do not like seeing you at less than _your_ best, Alexander.”

Alex inhales, deeply, and suppresses a shudder. He tells himself not to read into the General’s statement, that the depth of feeling there could not possibly exist. He turns to meet Washington’s gaze and feels his face flush again at the softness he finds there. But there is exhaustion too, in the lines of the General’s mouth and the uncharacteristic darkness under his eyes. Alexander grips his resolve with both hands.

“Sir, if I were to promise that I will retire myself, could I convince you to your bed? T-To find your rest, sir?” Alex is still at attention, back straight, that hardened look returning to his face again. Washington blinks, sits back again. He breathes slowly.

“I- Yes, Hamilton. If you promise me that you shall sleep as soon as you reach your own bed.” Alex twitches at that, and Washington smirks at having caught the young man’s trick.

“Sir, I have only _one_ more letter to complete. Just one more surely would not-” Alexander cuts off as the General raises his hand. Washington stands from his desk finally, cupping his own hands behind his back in a mirror of Alexander’s stance.

“If America can survive the respite of her Commander, she can surely live through the same of her most coveted aide.” Washington nods decisively as Alexander’s breath catches again. All retorts die on the aide’s tongue as the General moves to shrug out of his uniform coat. Draping it over his desk chair Washington steps toward Alexander where he still stands stock still. He settles a hand on the young man’s shoulder and smiles disarmingly.

“Goodnight, Alexander.”

Alex doesn’t remember what he mutters in reply before retreating hastily from the General’s presence. The next he is fully aware he is already back in his own tent, standing listlessly next to his bed. Absently, he begins shucking his own coat and he tosses it to drape over his small desk before flopping down into his cot. Boots kicked off, Alex buries his face into his threadbare pillow and merely breathes, mind silent. When he sleeps, there is a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Also, I am [taking prompts](http://variaswrites.tumblr.com/ask) if you're interested!


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